


how low

by yandereraiden



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gang Rape, Kind of a character study, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Underage Prostitution, Victim Blaming, Victim Self-Blaming, rape revenge, the ugly intersection of social darwinism and csa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yandereraiden/pseuds/yandereraiden
Summary: but he never forgot a face





	how low

**Author's Note:**

> im ugly for this

It was never something he’d wanted to do. It had been a particularly bleak winter when Draven had fallen ill, body shivering, wracked with coughs that had him retching up red mucus and threatened to break his ribs. He needed medicine. He needed food. He needed clothes that weren’t full of holes and threadbare. And the money Darius had, that he’d fought over, stolen, and mugged people for- it wasn’t enough.

 

There weren’t many options left for him, if he wanted his brother to live. If  _ he  _ wanted to live at this point, as every day he became leaner, hunger giving his body a frail, mean look. 

 

There were far worse ways to make money than lying on his back.

 

Darius’ first client nearly came in his pants when he learned Darius was a virgin. He put forth the minimum effort to make the young boy feel good, or even comfortable, cold hands grasping Darius’ hips as he laid between pale, hunger-thin legs and  _ fucked. _ He licked Darius’ neck, a feeling that had him shivering in disgust, and murmured sweet nothings into his ear that Darius tried his hardest not to listen to.

 

_ “Baby boy, why are you so tense?” _

 

Darius hadn’t been there for most of it, if he was being honest with himself- he’d felt like an outsider looking in, watching himself being fucked but not quite registering it. It only hit him in the moment he allowed himself to recover, when he sat up and felt someone else’s come leak out of him. He promptly turned to the side and retched, bile stinging his throat on the way up.

 

In the end, the money from two hours was enough to pay for Draven’s medicine for an entire week, and still have enough left over to keep them fed as well. Seeing the color come back into his brother’s cheeks was enough to make Darius forget, for the moment.

 

The next time, it was right after he’d just visited the market, trading his last few coins for a loaf of bread and some fish. He was still thin, the cords of muscle wrapped around his limbs looking strange next to his bony hips and shoulders, and it was the look of weakness hanging around him that drew the muggers in. He fought back- he kicked and punched, got one in the shoulder with the knife he kept in his boot, but his body hadn’t recovered from the cold and the hunger, and they outnumbered him. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Noxus was nothing if not unfair.

 

Darius escaped with his life, relatively unharmed, but the muggers took his food. His stomach rumbled as he lured another man in with wanting eyes, allowing another foreign pair of hands to touch him, another unwanted cock to penetrate him. This one was over quickly, the man wiping himself off on Darius’ thighs impersonally, shoving the money into his hands, and bustling out. Darius visited the market again, took the longer, safer way home, and avoided Draven’s questions as to why he was late, and why he was covered in bruises.

 

And so it went.

 

He preferred fighting for his meals, but this worked too, when he was desperate. It kept them fed in the winter, kept them in shoes that didn’t have holes in them, kept them alive when fever took. If opening his legs was what it took to keep Draven healthy, Darius would have let half the city fuck him, disgusting as it might have been.

 

Darius let them, but he never forgot a face.

 

He didn’t forget the faces of the same gang of muggers when they came back for him, more of them this time, cornering him in an alley on his way home. He didn’t have food this time, but they weren’t after his food. They weren’t after the few gold coins he had on him. The looks on their faces were hungry, and familiar.

 

Darius was stronger than he had been, but he was outnumbered. Still, by the time they managed to get his arms tied behind his back and his pants down around his ankles, he had stabbed one of them in the gut, and half-blinded another by clawing out his eye. They both howled in pain, writhing on the ground, but the rest of the men paid them no heed, focusing instead on the prize in front of them. Hands swarmed over his body, holding him down even as he continued to struggle and thrash and bite, keeping his legs spread for whoever wanted to take him next. Someone slithered around behind him, holding his waist and whispering in his ear.

 

_ “This is your fault, you know. You’re a little slut, but worse than that, you’re weak. You couldn’t fight us off, because you’re weak. You can’t keep me from touching you, because you’re weak. You whore yourself out for money, because you’re  _ weak.”

 

They left him shaking and covered in semen on the ground in that alleyway. They didn’t even bother to take the coin pouch he’d had in his tattered coat. There wasn’t any reason for what they did to him- they had just wanted to prove that they could.

 

And Darius never forgot.

 

He was fifteen, then. A quarter century later, and almost all of the men from that night had died. Some had been soldiers, some had taken ill, some had been gutted on their way back home.

 

The causes didn’t matter to Darius. The numbers did- there was one man left.

 

He wasn’t one for gloating. He’d leave that particular type of display to his brother. But when the man woke up to the cold edge of an axe pressed against his neck, Darius felt it was only right to give him an explanation. The years had not been kind to him, and Darius almost felt bad about grabbing him by the collar of his nightshirt and throwing him out of bed. Almost.

 

“Get your weapon,” he said. The man stumbled across the room, lanky and terrified, and picked up the sword that rested on top of his fireplace. He raised it in front of him, hands shaking. Afraid.

 

Darius sneered.  _ Pathetic. _

 

The fight was over before it even began, really. The man tried to run him through- Darius sidestepped and kicked him in the back, and he went tumbling, weapon clattering out of his hands. He tried to reach for it again, and Darius brought his axe down, severing hand from arm cleanly at the wrist. The man didn’t so much scream as he did whine, loud and grating as Darius crouched down besides his head, staring at him.

 

“Do you know who I am?” He asked.

 

“Of c-course I fucking know who you are- everyb-body knows who you fucking are-”

 

“No.” Darius shook his head. “Look at me. Do you know  _ who I am?” _

 

Maybe it was the pain that gave him clarity. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was about to die. Whatever it was that caused the look of comprehension to dawn on the man’s face, Darius didn’t know, and he didn’t care. 

 

“You…” The man writhed, trying to slither his way backwards.

 

“Do you remember what you said to me, once?” Darius let him move. He wouldn’t get anywhere with the amount of blood he’d already lost. “You said I was weak. That everything that had happened to me was my fault, because I wasn’t strong enough to prevent it.”

 

“I didn’t mean-”

 

Darius raised a hand, quieting the man instantly. “Don’t. You were right. I  _ was _ weak.” His brow furrowed. “I couldn’t protect myself. I wasn’t powerful enough to stop you. I… deserved it. We don’t condone that kind of vulnerability in this city, or in this country. You’re only  _ deserving _ of justice if you can fight for it.” He stood up again.

 

“But I’m not weak anymore.”

 

“You’re n-not-”

 

“Don’t snivel. It makes you look even more pathetic than you already are.” His nose wrinkled, and he stepped forwards. “I’m no hypocrite. You get a chance to fight, too. So stand up. Try to get away from me. If you’re strong, you’ll make it out of this room alive. If not...”  He pried his axe out of the floorboards with a creaking groan. The edge of it was gilded with crimson, dripping down the blade and onto the floor, and Darius stared at the man, a hard glint in his eyes. “Well. We both know what happens to weaklings, don’t we?”


End file.
